


old exo drabble dump

by mediest



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 01:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17437493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediest/pseuds/mediest
Summary: a buncha unorganized drabbles, 2012-2014.1. baekchensoo, "should we fuck to make things better?"2. layhan, my roommate is a vampire3. krisyeol, summer before college4. krisyeol, time-out for superheroes5. chansoo, high on painkillers6. layhan, drunk (and then hungover)7. taohun, the straight best friend8. kaiyeol, snowball fight9. kris+layhan, kidnapping10. krislayhan, adventures in IKEA11. krishan, car sex, explicit12. taohan, spanking, explicit13. krisbaek, kissing booth14. chanyeol, a series of fire-related AUs15. chansoo, post-law of the jungle





	1. baekchensoo, awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> timed prompt: 45min + baekchensoo are awkward with each other when chanyeol's not around. cue chen's "should we fuck to make things better"

Chanyeol bails on their night out which means that for the first hour, in between Kyungsoo's parade of Boyz II Men and Baekhyun's rendition of every Girls' Generation hit since 2008, everyone drinks as much soju as possible to make things less weird. This is a good idea until the hour's up and Kyungsoo tries to stand up to go select his next song, finds that his legs have turned into mush, and collapses back onto the couch instead.  
  
"This was a bad idea," he says, covering his face with his arm.  
  
"This was a great idea," Baekhyun argues. "If the execution's shitty, that's Chanyeol's fault."   
  
Jongdae gives up trying to find MAMA on the karaoke machine. "All shitty roads lead back to Park Chanyeol," he says.  
  
Kyungsoo snorts, muffled by the crook of his elbow. "Chanyeol is in charge of shittiness in EXO-K."  
  
Chanyeol's the kind of guy who wants all his friends to be friends, but never better friends with each other than they are with him. So that's what ended up happening. Without him here, they're three separate bodies missing a fulcrum. Camaraderie that's founded on the mutual experience of being yelled at by the same vocal coach only goes so far. Which brings Kyungsoo back to the necessity of soju.  
  
Chanyeol finally texts while Jongdae's killing it at some soulful 4Men ballad. Kyungsoo sits up, brings his phone up close to his face and squints to focus.   
  
"Hope you kids are having fun," he reads. There's a picture attached of Chanyeol and Kris mugging for the camera. Baekhyun, through his alcoholic haze, interprets this as a declaration of war.  
  
"Jongdae!" he shouts. "Jongdae, shut up, we need to selca."  
  
"I'm trying to fucking sing here," Jongdae belts out.  
  
"Hold on, I'll do it," Kyungsoo says, jabbing his thumb at his touchscreen.  
  
As Kyungsoo holds the phone up at a tried and tested flattering angle, Baekhyun tucks himself against Kyungsoo's shoulder. He's close enough to be breathing right into Kyungsoo's ear. Kyungsoo snaps the picture.  
  
"You look like you think Baekhyun has cooties," Jongdae comments, still to the tune of Baby Baby.  
  
Baekhyun punches Kyungsoo in the chest. "You think I have cooties?" he says, wide-eyed and wounded.  
  
Kyungsoo laughs. They're so fucking weird sometimes. "Whatever, let's do it again."  
  
By the sixth selca they're just messing around, making stupid faces. Jongdae's song is over but he's still monopolizing the microphone as he booms at them,  _we have to have so much fun it makes Chanyeol cry._  Kyungsoo passes the phone to Baekhyun to give his own arm a break. He rests his head against Baekhyun's, drowsily trying to pick apart the smell of soju from the smell of Baekhyun's hair and shampoo. For some reason that detail seems important. If they're going to be better friends, he wants to be able to tell the difference between what's circumstance and what's really Baekhyun. Before he can figure it out, there's a wetness on Kyungsoo's cheek that makes him turn towards it on reflex. Then Baekhyun's mouth is right there, and then the phone clicks.  
  
In the brief silence, Baekhyun jerks back. "Oops," he says lamely. "Bad aim."  
  
The blood roars in Kyungsoo's ears.  
  
"That one was good," Jongdae sounds like white static, "but I think it came out shaky, so you'll have to redo it."  
  
"Yeah?" Baekhyun says, still looking right at Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo blinks back, skin hot and alive.  
  
"Yeah," Jongdae says. "Really make it look good."  
  
Whichever one of them goes back in for the kill first, it's Kyungsoo who ends up on top, his hair kicking down over his eyes as he leans over Baekhyun to press him into the couch and kiss him full and messy and drunk. Baekhyun fists both of his hands into Kyungsoo's collar, grinning into it, biting at Kyungsoo's bottom lip. Baekhyun is a really good kisser, even tasting like alcohol and salt, but Kyungsoo wants to know more. He wants to know what kind of shape the three of them might make, once all their boundaries have been torn down and restructured. He can feel Baekhyun through their jeans, getting hard, rubbing up against him like the world's going to end tomorrow, until Jongdae instructs, "Go slower," over the mic and Baekhyun actually listens. He cups a palm over Kyungsoo's hip to make him slow down too, before his hand's sliding back to squeeze Kyungsoo's ass. Kyungsoo whimpers into Baekhyun's mouth.  
  
Finally, Kyungsoo comes back up for air, still grinding his dick mindlessly against Baekhyun's. Baekhyun's lips are parted, shiny with spit, and it's the first time off-stage that he's ever looked at Kyungsoo like he's the most fascinating thing on the planet.  
  
"Alright," Jongdae says, "my turn."


	2. layhan, vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask.fm prompt: vampire layhan

Yixing had to buy it from a pet store on the other side of town. Most only stocked up on frozen pre-killed prey these days, and wouldn't sell you pet mice as feeders. The girl at the register was friendly, young, with vet school ambition written all over her.  
  
"What's the name of your snake?" she asked as she rang him up.  
  
"What?" Yixing looked away from the cage, where the small white mouse had been twitching its nose at him. "Oh. His name's Lu Han."  
  
Lu Han was awake by the time Yixing came home. The window blinds had been opened, though the sun wasn't fully down. Lu Han stood in the hallway, just beyond the ribbons of light in the carpet, and watched Yixing take off his shoes.  
  
"I'm home," Yixing greeted. "I brought you back some take out."  
  
It was an old joke. Lu Han took the cage off his hands. "Hi little guy," he said, peering inside. "Why do you always have to get the cute ones?"  
  
"Why do you always have to go and make friends with them?"  
  
"I just want them to like me."  
  
"You don't need to do that," Yixing said as he undid the first two buttons of his shirt and opened his collar. Lu Han's pupils went dark.  
  
It went without saying, but mice weren't Lu Han's preference. It was like fucking someone you weren't really attracted to: you needed something else to get your blood flowing first, to wet your appetite. Lu Han held Yixing against the door and started at his shoulder, skimming up the bone. Smelling him. When he reached Yixing's neck, Yixing flinched away on reflex. Lu Han's grip on his wrist tightened on reflex too, then loosened just as fast, apologetically. As Lu Han fit his nose to the curve of Yixing's neck, and breathed in deep, Yixing's body threw itself into fight-or-flight. It took everything for him to stay there. His heartbeat pounded under Lu Han's cold mouth. Lu Han licked it and it felt like a century. A hundred year long stroke of Lu Han's tongue, finding the cure for his thirst on Yixing's throat.  
  
The next second Lu Han was gone. He took the cage back down the hallway, into the bathroom.  
  
Yixing sagged against the door. He flexed his sore wrist. He rubbed his neck clean with his palm, rubbed his palm off on his jeans, until his skin felt like his own again and the blood beneath it had settled. Then he sat on the couch and turned on the TV.  
  
Lu Han came out ten minutes later and sat with him. He made a grab for the remote, which Yixing fought off. "It's Wednesday," Yixing said. "So it's my turn."  
  
"Your turn is boring," Lu Han said.  
  
"I like what I like," Yixing said staunchly. He liked 50-episode long family dramas.  
  
Lu Han tried again, then resigned himself to Han Dayun's relationship problems, sinking low into the cushions as they watched together. He smelled coppery, sharp. But when he put his cheek on Yixing's shoulder, it was temporarily warm.


	3. krisyeol, summer before college

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask.fm prompt: young folks sequel

  
Chanyeol says, "Fuck," the luxurious way some people drag off a cigarette. Low, kind of husky, the drawn out vowel riding the air out of his lungs. Kris' cock twitches with dim interest inside his boxer briefs. That's some Pavlovian shit right there.  
  
"It's too hot," he continues, throwing an arm over his face.  
  
"The AC's been busted since last week," Kris says. "I'm taking two showers a day."  
  
Chanyeol grunts. "This is fucking uncivilized."  
  
Neither of them has the right to talk about being civilized. The room smells like sweat and spunk and summer pollen from the open window. It'd be kind of gross if Kris weren't so used to it. They fucked their way through June when they weren't seeing Chanyeol's obscure experimental bands. Spent July weekends in the sand, ingesting gallons of ocean water. August circles back to fucking, but the temperature's twice as hot now and they move twice as slow. Chanyeol stops blowing him like the world's about to end. He takes his time. They get their fill of each other.  
  
A miraculous breeze blows through, circulating the stale, stuffy air. Chanyeol slowly reanimates. "Do you have work tomorrow? What're you doing?"  
  
"Nothing," Kris says. He glances at Chanyeol's tanned stomach, and then reaches down to stroke his knuckles against it. Often he forgets that he doesn't have to stop himself. "I need to pack."  
  
"Bzzt," Chanyeol says. "Try again."  
  
Kris hums. "Pool? Dinner and a movie? Flagrant vandalism?"  
  
"Two words: amusement park."  
  
"You know that's almost a three hour drive."  
  
"There're water rides, man," Chanyeol says. "I'll cover gas money."  
  
"Alright," Kris says, sliding his hand up to pinch one of Chanyeol's nipples. Chanyeol does one of his porno moans, and Kris grins. "I'll pick you up in the morning. Cash upfront."  
  
"Need any help packing afterwards?"  
  
"I guess so. I don't know, I haven't made any progress. It's a lot of stuff to go through."  
  
"When's your flight again?" Chanyeol asks, his eyes still hidden by his forearm. Kris used to play that game when he was a kid. If you couldn't see something, it didn't exist. If Chanyeol didn't watch the sun go down, the day couldn't officially end.  
  
"Next Saturday," Kris says. "Early orientation."  
  
"Gotcha," Chanyeol says. Kris' hand finishes its journey, skims past a cheekbone, arm, and finds Chanyeol's loosely curled fingers. The inside of his chest stutters like an overheated engine. He leans back against the headboard and closes his eyes. For a minute they listen to the cicadas outside.


	4. krisyeol, superheroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ask.fm prompt: krisyeol superhero duo

  
  
Human hair stinks like sulfur when it burns. Skin reeks of charcoal. Muscle and body fat can be reminiscent of different cooked meats, but all the blood trapped inside also gives them that coppery, metallic overtone. Once you reach internal organs, the cerebrospinal fluid, the smell becomes so thickly sweet and foul you can practically taste it.  
  
For half a year Chanyeol gives out second degree burns like candy. Then S.M.E. tells him, You're out of control. Then he tells them, You think this isn't controlled? When they busted a mutant trafficking ring, Chanyeol charred one of the girls' handlers so badly that most of his left thigh would need to be grafted. With a third degree, the nerve damage means you lose sensation. But the pain from a second degree can last for weeks. Chanyeol knows what he's doing. He tells them that too. They don't look any happier.  
  
Am I suspended? he asks.  
  
No, the academy director says. Your sessions with Kris begin tomorrow.  
  
-  
  
"I knew your defense was bad," Kris says. "But frankly this is pathetic."  
  
The pressure of his forearm eases off Chanyeol's throat. Chanyeol drops to his hands and knees, coughing. Blood roars in his ears.  
  
"My defense is--fucking fine--"  
  
Kris crouches down so they're at eye level. "Do you know what a glass cannon is?"  
  
"I hate cryptic metaphors," Chanyeol grinds out. His chest hurts when he breathes.  
  
"It means what it sounds like," Kris goes on. "You're a heavy hitter with insane power output but once anyone makes it through your offense, you have nothing. You're transparent. You're fragile."  
  
Chanyeol spits, bloody, onto the training room floor. "Nobody makes it through my offense."  
  
"Have you been paying attention? I just did."  
  
Kris the dragon, Kris the fucking invulnerable. S.M.E. isn't certain Kris can even die. Chanyeol's sweaty hair wilts over his eyes, one of his molars feels loose, his entire body's killing him. Kris just walked through each one of Chanyeol's attacks like a phoenix resurrection.  
  
"There's no one else like you," Chanyeol says. His voice is hoarse, weak. Makes him sound reverent.  
  
Kris gives him a hard look. Then, unexpectedly, he grins a little. "Yeah," he says. He rises back to his feet and extends a hand down. "You neither."  
  
-  
  
Fire users all run into the same problem: they're made up of just as much flammable tissue as the next person. Three months ago some kid out in Busan got trapped in the same arson fire he started, a two star motel burning until there was nothing left standing but two blackened walls, every window melted down.  
  
"I'm not here to punish you," Kris says after the second week. Chanyeol's hand-to-hand is improving. He collects bruises on top of bruises. "We just want to know that you can follow orders when the situation requires."  
  
"I'm not that kind of person," Chanyeol says, reaching up to prod at his split lip.  
  
"Then learn how to be," Kris says, pushing Chanyeol's hand back down. "Find a reason, I don't care what it is, to learn some discipline."  
  
A reason: when Chanyeol dreams, he's on fire, cremating himself in a motel room. His skin reddens and blisters and scars. The fluid in his eyes lights up and leaves him blind. Panic erupts in his stomach, and then his stomach is gone too. But the door opens. Someone comes in. Someone puts their hands on him, large and unburnt, and everywhere they travel, his skin repairs itself, and cools.

 

 


	5. chansoo, painkillers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: perfect boyfriend park chanyeol

  
  
Kyungsoo wishes being on painkillers didn't rob him of his ability to care that he's on painkillers. As it is, he gets back from the hospital on crutches, really high and stupidly happy. All the other guys are crowded in the managers' hotel room, tireless after the big win, and the moment Kyungsoo hobbles through the door, they swarm him like concerned gossip vultures.   
  
"Yo." Chanyeol's face appears from out of nowhere, shinier than the rest. "We missed you onstage. Are you feeling okay?"  
  
Kyungsoo blinks up at the ring of lamplight that arcs between Chanyeol's ears. Chanyeol looks like a fairy. That's stupid, some detached part of Kyungsoo's brain argues. Chanyeol does not look like a fairy.  
  
"Holy shit," Chanyeol says. "Are you stoned?"  
  
"You're stoned," Kyungsoo slurs.  
  
Chanyeol starts laughing like he just found out his birthday comes twice a year.  
  
The next half hour consists entirely of Chanyeol drilling Kyungsoo with questions like, "Hey, Kyungsoo, how do you feel about socks?" and Kyungsoo giving diligent answers like, "I feel pretty positively about them, but sometimes they're also itchy." Then Kyungsoo's head finally lolls against Chanyeol's shoulder, and when he manages to lift it again, Chanyeol's looking down at him with a grin that's mushier than the inside of Kyungsoo's head right now.  
  
"C'mon, I'll get you to your bed."  
  
As Chanyeol makes an "oomph" noise of physical exertion and hoists Kyungsoo into his arms, bridal-style, Kyungsoo faintly registers his pride fucking off to go die. More importantly, Chanyeol's chest is sweater-warm against Kyungsoo's cheek.  
  
"Is this how you feel all the time?" he asks as Chanyeol adjusts his grip so he can fumble the door open.  
  
"I dunno, what're you feeling?"  
  
Kyungsoo's eyelids droop. He presses his nose to Chanyeol's shirt. "Like I'm totally at peace with the world."  
  
For a brief moment, they stop moving. "Yeah," Chanyeol says. His voice is very close to Kyungsoo's ear. "Yeah, sometimes I feel that way too."  
  


 


	6. layhan, drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: drunk layhan (+hungover sequel)

  
  
  
Yixing feels impossibly good right now. Even by the time they get back to the hotel, it hasn't fully worn off yet, and Zitao is his latest target. Baekhyun says Yixing turns into a PDA monster whenever he touches alcohol. But it's not Yixing's fault he's so happy to be back in China he wants to tell and kiss everyone.   
  
"You're funny," Zitao mutters, wiping his cheek with one hand and spinning Yixing around with the other. "Go that way now, ok?"  
  
That way is Lu Han, who helps guide Yixing from the elevator back to their hotel room. They wear each other out with some TV, some aimless shit-talking, just to get in a state where they can both actually lie down and sleep. Lu Han lets out a jaw-popping yawn. Yixing pillows his head against Lu Han's stomach, separated only by Lu Han's thin undershirt.  
  
"We're so lucky," he sighs.  
  
"Oh no," Lu Han laughs, "are you gonna cry?" His cheeks are splotchy pink, smile huge when Yixing glances back up at him. It seems like a sign, so Yixing leans in on instinct.   
  
Lu Han shakes his head. "No, c'mon."  
  
Yixing pulls back, too fuzzy-headed to be more than a little hurt. "Was that the wrong thing to do?"  
  
"You're so out of it right now," Lu Han says.  
  
"You always think I'm out of it," Yixing says as he lays down again.  
  
"Wait 'til tomorrow morning," Lu Han says. "Sleep off the booze, and then, if you still want it to."  
  
Yixing closes his eyes. "Okay," he agrees. He's not so drunk that he doesn't feel Lu Han reach down to cautiously touch his hair.

 

 

-

 

  
Lu Han doesn't want to live anymore. He worms around sluggishly, trying to fold his body deeper against the mattress, past the hotel floor, down into the center of the earth where he can set himself on fire.   
  
"Is that you?" asks the bed.  
  
Lu Han sits up with a groan. "It's me." He pats around the talking duvet, trying to find the source. "What time is it?"  
  
"Seven when I checked. Don't talk yet."  
  
Lu Han's hand hits something solid but soft, giving. Maybe an arm. He thinks  _So my head's killing me, what about yours?_  at Yixing's direction. No response. He tries a second time:  _Did you try to make out with me yesterday or did I just dream about it again?_  
  
Yixing's face peeks out of the blankets, beneath a wild moss bed of hair. His eyelids are drooped so low Lu Han can't tell if Yixing's even looking at him. "Did you say something?"  
  
Lu Han laughs, surprised. "It's seven thirty now. I'll grab the first shower?"  
  
Yixing makes an agreeable snuffling sound and retreats back into his cave. Lu Han's whole ribcage shivers with affection.  
  
He makes it through a three-minute shower without hurling. Toothpaste tastes like a long distance girlfriend his mouth hasn't seen in years. When he's humanoid again, he comes back out to find that Yixing has managed to sit up in bed, open his eyes and train them on the bathroom door as if through it is going to walk the cure for his hangover. Lu Han wraps his towel tighter around his waist. Ask him, his mutinous brain urges. Fucking ask him.  
  
Lu Han does the next best roundabout thing. "Is there anything we need to talk about?"  
  
Yixing's eyes flash up to Lu Han's face, a little too fast because then they cloud over with faint nausea. "Uh," he says, "if you want."  
  
If  _Lu Han_  wants? Alright, fine, he can play along. He leans in the doorway, grinning. "I just want it on record how hard you were coming onto me last night."  
  
"It wasn't that hard--"  
  
"It was  _hard_. All that stuff about how lucky we are, how perfectly events line up sometimes? Man, Zhang Yixing, I almost let you."  
  
The joke doesn't land the way Lu Han intends. Instead, Yixing looks at him with a hint of curiosity. After a moment of deliberation he says, "I didn't just want you to let me, you know."  
  
Lu Han feels all the air leave him like a week old balloon. "No, I don't. I don't know."  
  
Yixing shrugs, climbs out of bed and shuffles past Lu Han into the bathroom. He squeezes way too much toothpaste onto his toothbrush and crams it into his mouth. His movements are so slow and distorted it's like they're both inside a fishbowl swimming circles around each other. And then, when he's finally ready, he meets Lu Han's eyes in the bathroom mirror, and says, "I'd only want it if I knew you'd kiss me back."  
  


 


	7. taohun, straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: taohun bros

 

Twenty years. That's how long it took Tao to stop burning himself each time he looked in the mirror. To stop carrying his body with the posture of a skittish, mistrustful cat. None of it came cheap, Tao'd fought tooth and nail to be able to get along with himself. So by the fifth time Sehun drops by M's dorm to hang out (and inevitably stay the night), Tao knows he has to speak up. 

"Is this going to be a thing?"

Sehun tilts his head, frowning, and scrubs the towel through his wet blond hair. He's just out of the shower, tugging on a borrowed pair of Tao's PJ bottoms. The whole picture is 100% devastating. "Whaddya mean?"

"I like being your friend," Tao says, running his tongue against the back of his teeth, "but not your big gay experiment."

The natural furrow of Sehun's eyebrows deepens. "I don't--"

"And it's okay if you check out my ass at practice, but--"

"I was not! There was a--I saw like, a mouse--"

Sehun's so red right now. Feeling guilty, Tao folds his legs up to free up some room on the bed. Sehun sits beside him heavily, looking like he might make a run for it any second now.

"It's just that I don't mess with straight guys anymore," Tao says. "I would've, a couple years ago, but not anymore."

Sehun winces. "Yeah, I--I know." He pulls at the loose threads of Tao's comforter. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird. I'm still working through some stuff and everything's really confusing."

And Tao understands what kind of stuff Sehun means, almost sank under the mass of it himself before he managed to shovel enough out of his heart to breathe. "I'm here," he says, "for that part, if you wanna talk."

Sehun looks over at Tao. A tentative smile crosses his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Tao says earnestly. "But not the dick-sucking part."

Sehun jabs his elbow at Tao's chest, scoffing. "You wish."

"I'd never wish that on anyone," Tao shoots back, and props his chin on Sehun's shoulder. Sehun tenses minutely, but relaxes, and nothing else happens. Nothing has to end yet.

 

 


	8. kaiyeol, snowball fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: kaiyeol

 

 

Chanyeol knows it's his own fault. But how could he say no to the invitation of snowfall, a starless sky? The few remaining streetlamps made the street look like shining ice. So screw idol house arrest. Chanyeol'd zipped his parka up over his PJs and dragged Jongin's sorry ass out of bed and into the snow. 

"From now on, stay out of my life," Jongin'd said outside, shivering. "I want a restraining order."

"Aw, Jongin, c'mere," Chanyeol'd said, and wrapped Jongin into a bear hug. Jongin relaxed and buried his nose into the warm fur of Chanyeol's hood. Jongin's hair smelled amazing up close, all the product washed out, replaced with clean soap. Chanyeol breathed in a big lungful. Then he was crushing a handful of snow down the back of Jongin's jacket, and RUNNING.

Now he's beginning to regret it. Both of his hands are frozen numb and he can't find Jongin anywhere. "Here, kitty kitty," Chanyeol mutters, another snowball in hand as he checks behind trashbins and telephone poles. The entire street is blanketed by a white layer that crunches softly under Chanyeol's sneakers, the only sound he can hear. Fuck, did Jongin get kidnapped? How is he going to explain that to the rest of the band--

"BIRD STRIKE," and Chanyeol goes down, eating snow, half-screaming half-laughing as Jongin straddles his waist and crams snow into Chanyeol's parka hood. Ice wiggles down Chanyeol's back, his neck freezes instantly, and his nose starts running like a motherfucker. "I'M YOUR HYUNG," he gurgles, at which Jongin only cracks up harder. It's another couple minutes before Jongin finally gets his fill of revenge and rolls off to stretch out on his back in the middle of the empty street. Chanyeol spits out a pound of snow and lifts himself onto his elbows, turning to stare at Jongin's giddy profile. His own face and mouth are cold and wet, frozen, tingling, and he's so fucking happy.

 


	9. kris+layhan, kidnapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: crime team-up layhan

  
  


"Sorry," Redhead says, "is that too tight? I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Can we get you a soda or something?"

This isn't Kris Wu's first kidnapping, but it's quickly becoming the weirdest. "Uh," he says, glancing around the nondescript hideout. "Diet coke?"

The other guy, Blondie, peeks inside the fridge. "We don't have diet."

"Regular's fine too."

Blondie pops open a coke can and sticks a bendy straw through the mouth. He holds it steady so Kris can drink with his hands still tied to the back of the chair.

"Listen, you guys seem nice," Kris starts.

"Thank you," Redhead says as he sets up the DVD player. 

"--you're welcome?" Kris says. "I just think you should know that my dad's not going to pay what you're asking."

"Are you two on the rocks?" Blondie asks, sounding sympathetic.

"Kind of," Kris admits, who the fuck knows why. "I took my mom's side in the divorce."

"Oh, yeah, I read about that." Blondie pats his shoulder. "If it counts for anything, we think you'd be worth at least two mil."

Huh, Kris thinks. That's actually one of the sweeter things anyone's said to him in a while.

"Plus I think your dad could surprise you," Redhead adds. He's sitting on the arm of the couch now, playing with a butterfly knife. "Even emotionally distant parents can have a lot of hidden love for their kids."

"You think?" Kris says.

Redhead smiles at him. "Yeah, we just have to find a way to root it out. Maybe with an ear, or a toe. Nothing you'd miss, we promise."

"You wanna watch a movie first?" Blondie says. "Your Top 40 Bachelors profile said you like Love Actually, so we got the 10th anniversary edition."

"Okay," Kris says faintly.

 


	10. krislayhan, IKEA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: krislayhan cohabitation

 

 

"What about this one," Yixing says, bouncing once or twice on the ugliest taupe sofa in existence.

"That one is not allowed in our new apartment," Lu Han says. "You shouldn't be allowed in our new apartment, on account of your taste."

"Who made you the king of furniture?" Yixing says. "Where's Kris? Kris, what do you think?"

Kris is a couple couches away, chatting up an IKEA employee about, who knows, her intimate life story. He glances over when he hears his name, keeps his expression neutral, and sticks out a sideways thumb.

"He hates it," Lu Han translates, at the same time Yixing says, "See? It's alright."

By the time Kris joins back up with them, Lu Han and Yixing are jointly occupying a marginally less awful sofa sample. At least Lu Han likes the color of this one: a clean light blue that reminds him of Yixing. It's large enough, too. Yixing's head slots perfectly into Lu Han's lap. Kris peers down at them, eyebrows raised, mouth upturned.

"We're in public."

"We're taking a break," Yixing says into Lu Han's shirt.

If you can't beat 'em, yadda yadda. Kris sits in the empty spot next to Lu Han and tests the give of the sofa. 

"Well?" Lu Han asks as he pokes his finger around Yixing's face, trying to provoke him into biting at it.

Kris drapes an arm across the back of the sofa, so that it's slightly wrapped around Lu Han and Yixing both. "Yeah, I could see this working."


	11. krishan, car sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> misc: a cathedral city outtake

 

  
"I told you, this isn't gonna work," Kris says.  
  
"Fuck off," Lu Han says, before he bangs his head into the car ceiling again. "Jeez--"  
  
His shirt is off, Kris' is unbuttoned, but everything else is proving to be more difficult. There isn't enough room in the passenger seat for Kris' legs, let alone Lu Han's. The air inside the car is hot and it's getting Lu Han all worked up. He pushes his jeans down to his ankles, figures that's good enough, and leans forward to help Kris out instead. Kris lets his skull hit the back of the seat even as he says, "There's no good way to do this."  
  
Lu Han reclines the seat further back as he grinds himself against Kris' thigh. "Maybe if you weren't Godzilla."  
  
"Maybe you could just sit and spin," Kris says, and laughs when Lu Han slugs him in the shoulder. "Ow. Sorry."  
  
Kris' jeans finally come down to his thighs. It's a team effort. The thick outline of his cock strains against his underwear, making Lu Han's mouth water, but that isn't what he wants right now. As if reading his mind, Kris grabs Lu Han's ass, squeezes, and pulls him closer. Lu Han bites at Kris' mouth as he pushes down the waistband of Kris' briefs just far enough to get his hands on him. When Kris returns the favor, Lu Han breathes out hard, knees unsteady.  
  
The car's starting to feel claustrophobic. Lu Han hazes over, pumping through Kris' fist. Mutual handjobs feel too close to high school, but Lu Han's all hot for it, the stupid decisions, the tight caged space with Kris at the center, his dick hot and big in Lu Han's hand. The second Kris pulls his hand away, Lu Han's already trying to get him back, grabbing at his wrist until Kris says, "Hey, be good." Lu Han's cheeks burn and his dick jerks hopelessly. This billion year old planet and Kris is the one person who can make him pay attention like this. Kris spits into his palm, reaches back down and wraps it around them both. It's slippery, tight. Kris starts jacking them off together and Lu Han almost hits the ceiling again. Kris leans in to kiss his sweaty throat. "This what you wanted?" he says. "Is this good?"  
  
When they first started sleeping together, Lu Han thought Kris would be the kind of guy who was quiet in bed, but Kris believed in communication or some shit. Sometimes that meant Kris' appreciative moan as he came in Lu Han's mouth, his dick nudging against the back of Lu Han's throat, and sometimes that meant Kris saying, "Don't move," with a hypnotic kind of surety, so Lu Han never moved, couldn't move, didn't remember how, just knelt there shaking as Kris put his tongue in his ass.  
  
"Yeah," Lu Han pants. This is what he wanted. He braces the car seat and rides it out, letting Kris take over, Kris' huge fucking hand. He presses his forehead to Kris' shoulder and watches his cockhead pushing through Kris' grip, leaking wet. Fuck, he thinks, hears Kris say it aloud, and Lu Han comes as if he's been told to, Kris pulling it out of him as if it's his to take.  


 


	12. taohan, spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exopromptmeme: taohan, spanking

  
It’s a natural progression of events. Zitao sticks a toy in Lu Han’s hood, Lu Han yanks Zitao’s own hood over his face, Zitao snaps his teeth. Lu Han steals something, Zitao steals it back, Lu Han slaps him on the ass. Getting spanked is funny to Zitao. Lu Han wouldn’t know how to hurt anyone if he tried, and afterwards he backpedals away grinning like the kid who just sent a soccer ball flying through the principal’s office window.   
  
But the first time Zitao hits back, Lu Han’s entire body tightens like a whip. Zitao reels back with quick regret, wondering if he overdid it and forgot his strength. When he studies Lu Han’s face, though, he doesn’t look hurt, only a little dazed.   
  
“Sorry?” he says anyway, feeling genuinely bad about it.  
  
“Forget it,” Lu Han dismisses. He reaches back, like he wants to touch where Zitao’s hand made impact. Then he thinks better of it, even though it’s dance practice and no one’s paying attention. Zitao doesn’t understand why not. The intensity that jolts through Lu Han’s eyes is the biggest thing in the room.  
  
“Okay,” Zitao says slowly. His hand tingles. But Lu Han stops being weird within a minute, and gives him a friendly punch in the chest as he walks off, so Zitao lets it go. Sort of.   
  
-  
  
Zitao wakes up early the next morning, half-hard, and shuffles drowsily into the bathroom to take care of it. In the shower, he leans his forehead against the glass door and lets the hot water run down his chest as he tugs languidly on his dick like for once he has all the time he wants. He lets the heat pool in his belly and haze over his mind, not really imagining anything. Flashes of someone’s mouth. Then from out of nowhere he realizes with abrupt clarity: Lu Han’d been turned on.  
  
It hits him like a blow of lightning. Electrifies him, sets fire to the ground. Zitao ends up coming all over himself too fast, panting against the door and fogging up the glass.   
  
When his knees recover, he grabs the bodywash and considers his new revelation. He guesses from here it could go one of two ways. He could, for the good of the band, never spank Lu Han again. Or, he considers, soaping up his thighs, brushing against the oversensitive head of his cock: he could spank Lu Han  _all the time_.  
  
-  
  
The seventh time Zitao hits back, Lu Han sees it coming, and Zitao sees the way Lu Han turns his ass towards it, his body language loud with anticipation. The slap echoes through the living room. Kris glances up at the sound, away from the TV towards where the two of them have been fighting for control of the remote. “What the hell is wrong with you guys?”  
  
“Oops,” Zitao grins.  
  
The color rests high in Lu Han’s cheeks. His tongue darts out before he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.   
  
“Forget it,” he says, this time like that’s the last thing he wants Zitao to do. He tosses Zitao the remote in surrender and tells Kris, “I’m going to bed early.”  
  
“I’ll be up for a while,” Kris says. Lu Han disappears down the hallway and Zitao sits back on the couch, tucking himself next to Kris and changing the channel to reruns of Secret Garden. He goes fifteen minutes watching Ha Jiwon’s face, absorbing nothing, way too horny for Korean, before he fakes a yawn.  
  
“I’m going to bed too,” he says—yawns again, which he realizes right afterwards is kind of overkill.   
  
“Sure,” Kris says, sounding amused, “good night.”  
  
When he gets to Lu Han and Kris’ room, Zitao hesitates for a second by the closed door, but nervousness never wins in a cage match against hormones. “Get the fuck in here,” Lu Han growls when he sees him, his sweatpants already bunched around his thighs as he kneels on his bed. Zitao locks the door behind himself.    
  
-  
  
“Shit,” Lu Han says, and then laughs a little at himself, arching into Zitao’s hand. His cock is hard against Zitao’s bare leg, and Zitao can feel each time it ruts against him and spurts a little precome onto his inner thighs.   
  
Lu Han’s ass is flushed red. Zitao gives it another hard slap, and Lu Han trembles in Zitao’s lap.  
  
“You’re so weird,” Zitao comments, digging his fingers in experimentally until the pink skin turns white. Lu Han pushes into it, dipping his back.  
  
“Shut up,” he breathes. Heat radiates from him like he’s a lit match. Zitao doesn’t get off on hitting Lu Han or anything but seeing how much Lu Han likes it makes his own dick fatten up, heavy and wet at the tip, rubbing off on Lu Han’s skin. He brings his hand back down until Lu Han’s gasping for it, pink all over. His t-shirt’s yanked up and stuffed in his mouth so he has something to bite down on, the fabric dark with spit. By the time Lu Han starts to whimper, Zitao’s palm is on fire, each impact shooting deep down in his stomach and balls, up into his brain, making him feel hot and parched. He cups Lu Han’s ass and squeezes, and Lu Han’s dick jumps against Zitao’s leg. He slides two fingers down and rubs them over his asshole, and Lu Han moans.  
  
“Fuck—” Lu Han lifts himself higher on his knees. His cock leaves a sticky trail across Zitao’s thigh and Zitao suddenly misses the weight of it. “I need to—”  
  
“You don’t have to ask,” Zitao blurts out, and Lu Han looks at him half-amused, half-ruined behind a tangle of blond hair. He gets his fist around himself, shoving his bruised ass up, and Zitao uses both hands to spread him open. He circles Lu Han’s hole with his thumb, watching it try to suck him in. “You gonna come?” he asks.  
  
“Yeah,” Lu Han pants, “hit me again.”  
  
Instead Zitao leans down, drags his tongue from Lu Han’s balls all the way back up, and hears every last ounce of air rush out of Lu Han’s lungs. He presses the flat of his tongue against Lu Han’s hole, letting Lu Han grind back onto his face as he licks and bites at the soft skin. Then he spanks him so hard it vibrates in his bones, and Lu Han’s done. He comes with a silent shudder and Zitao thinks dimly that this is it, this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Hotter than Kris right out of the shower, Sehun in a tank top. Hotter than Baekhyun putting Chanyeol in a stranglehold. Lu Han slumps onto his arms, his skin sweaty, his shirt rucked up and damp with drool, so utterly fucking satisfied like Zitao just helped him drain out a sea of tension that Zitao hadn’t even known was there.   
  
Zitao wipes the spit off his chin, and then wipes his hand off on Lu Han’s waist. It’s a testament to how blissed out Lu Han must feel, that he actually allows it. Lu Han stretches out of his lap, migrates over towards the headboard. His ass is still splotchy pink. Zitao’s good person instincts kick in.   
  
“We should find you something for that,” he says.  
  
Lu Han tugs a pillow under his head before lying back. “Let me get you off first. Fuck,” he says in wonderment, “Huang Zitao.”  
  
Zitao ducks his head and grins. “Not bad, right?”  
  
“C’mere and get in my mouth,” Lu Han slurs. Zitao isn’t going to pass that up. He climbs up Lu Han’s body to kneel over him, and slowly guides his cock past Lu Han’s lips. Lu Han’s loose under him, looking up at him with dark dreamy eyes. Zitao’s breath sticks in his throat for one stupid moment. His hips pull back, thrust in again nice and deep, and Lu Han’s throat opens up for him like it’s easy, like it’s the most natural thing they’ve ever done. 

 

 


	13. krisbaek, kissing booth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> misc: krisbaek, kissing booth

  
After two packs of gum, Baekhyun's going to taste like watermelon for the rest of the week. The afternoon's winding down but it's still crazy hot as he slouches over the booth counter and bobs along to the music on the speakers. There's something about summer, though, despite the bug bites or the humidity that glues his hair to his temples. He loves pools and beach trips and how the days never end. Girls in short sundresses, guys going sleeveless.   
  
Kris isn't sleeveless, but his class t-shirt is damp and transparent, which is just as good. He must've been in one of the water balloon fights. Baekhyun's happy to watch him pass by, appreciate the muscles of his back, until he realizes Kris is walking towards him. That's okay; this view is better.  
  
"Hey," Baekhyun says. "Donate a dollar for autism?"  
  
Kris digs out his wallet and places a handful of quarters onto the counter. "Have you been here long?"  
  
"Long enough to burn." Baekhyun shows off his bright pink arm and Kris makes a sympathetic sound. "Where're your friends?"  
  
He and Kris are friends too. Not really the kind Baekhyun wants to be, which involves 150% more payoff, but that's a work in progress. Kris combs his fingers through his wet hair. A few drops of water glide down his neck, pooling briefly in the concave of his collarbones. Baekhyun fucking loves summer. "They're making war at the dunk tank," Kris says. "Where's your line of girls?"  
  
Baekhyun jerks his thumb towards the glass jar beside him, jammed full with money. "I've kissed them all." He leans forward and adds winsomely, "I'm very good."  
  
Kris arches an eyebrow. "If you're that good, shouldn't you be getting repeat customers?"  
  
"Ouch," Baekhyun says, hurt. "I need to ask you to step away from the booth."  
  
"I'm just saying," Kris holds his hands up as if to show he's unarmed, "all I have to go on is your word."  
  
Baekhyun has jumped through these kinds of openings before. He met Kris last semester and after the first week never showed up to elementary stats with a pencil again. Kris was always cool about it, spare pencil ready, looking at Baekhyun the way he's looking at him now: the smile, the self-assured way he carries his height, the laidback sense of humor that makes Baekhyun gravitate to him in the first place, but also makes it hard to tell if Kris is only playing along. "Well," he says, "the jar's right there."  
  
If historically, he flirts and Kris lets it happen, Baekhyun doesn't know what comes after that. For a second Kris looks like he doesn't know either. His hair, slowly drying in the breeze, flops into his eyes. It's easier to tell that his roots are growing in, dark and severe against the blond. Baekhyun finds himself oddly focused on the detail, the way it repackages Kris and changes the size of him, enough that he misses Kris opening up his wallet again.  
  
Kris tucks a five into the jar. Baekhyun watches him do it, and makes sure: "Are you fucking with me?"  
  
"No," Kris says, level. "Are  _you_  fucking with me?"  
  
Baekhyun bites his lip so he's not grinning too hard. "No."  
  
"C'mon then," Kris murmurs, fisting Baekhyun's shirt, pulling him forward. As if Baekhyun needs the extra encouragement. He plants his palm against the booth, and uses it to leverage himself up and into a kiss. He winds his other hand into Kris' wet hair, pushing it back from his face so he can get at more skin. When he slips Kris some tongue, Kris makes the softest sound, breathing Baekhyun in. He tastes like cotton candy, and all Baekhyun wants is to be the one replacing it.  
  
By the time Kris lets him go, he looks as fuzzy as Baekhyun feels. Baekhyun stops standing around on his toes and scoots up onto the booth instead. Like this, Kris is still taller, but from the way he leans forward again, the afternoon sun molding his shadow into Baekhyun's, you couldn't tell.

 


	14. chanyeol, fire AUs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> misc: a series of unwritten chanyeol+fire AUs

_\- AU where chanyeol's a superhero who's useless when it rains_  
  
Monsoon season and Chanyeol hasn't seen any action the entire month of July. In the past four weeks he has broken all their training equipment, broken the replacements, and set the HQ kitchen on fire. That was three days ago. They've all been living off take-out and instant noodles ever since. "I'm dying," Chanyeol moans daily, dragging himself across the floor like a dog begging for scraps. "I can't go on."  
  
At least last Friday the skies had cleared up. He'd gotten two hours to run up naked to the roof, soak in the sunshine, and let his own flames lick across his skin. OUR CITY IS BEING PROTECTED BY NUDISTS, the headlines accused the next day. Kyungsoo rubbed his temples. Chanyeol, in his 24 hour apology cycle, brewed their coffee and did all the laundry. Jongdae had his costume returned to him extra glossy, though there was a burnt hole in the chest, which only proved everyone's point the next three times Jongdae fought crime with his left nipple exposed.  
  
It isn't really Chanyeol's fault. This is the heaviest rain Seoul has experienced in a while. Chanyeol keeps asking if Jongdae can, like, make it stop, but Jongdae tells him it doesn't work that way. "That'd be so cool if it did," he enthuses. "I could probably solve climate change."  
  
"So there's nothing you can do?" Chanyeol looks miserable.   
  
"Wellll," Jongdae says, and a minute later they're both standing outside on the roof again, soaked through to the bone.  
  
"This is the opposite of what I wanted," Chanyeol yells over the rain.  
  
"Just wait," Jongdae yells back, grinning wildly. The storm rages and booms above them. He reaches towards it, drawing it into himself like a funnel. He feels the spark plug into the back of his eyes.  
  
"Come closer," he tells Chanyeol. "Hold onto me."  
  
"Is this a date?" Chanyeol asks.  
  
Jongdae laughs. "Just do it!"  
  
Chanyeol's face drips with rainwater and his hand wraps slick around Jongdae's wrist. Jongdae's skin vibrates with power. When the lightning strikes him, he throws half of it into Chanyeol, all that electricity, and heat, and life. Chanyeol's grip tightens, body crackling, and his hand is so warm.   
  
  
  
_\- AU where chanyeol's an experiment who turns on his creators_  
  
Kris is given vacation time while the lab is under reconstruction. He spends it in Macau and doesn't hear a word from his bosses for ten days. Most likely they're deciding what to do with him. Kris has already resigned himself to a major demotion. They can't fire him without killing him, but they can at least make him live out the rest of his career trapped inside a small office.  
  
Technically five years old, test-tube grown, CY1127 looked twenty. Peak physical condition, and he'd never age another day. To help with the socialization process, they let him watch television. Dull, watered down selections, but CY1127 loved cartoons. Couldn't get enough of them. I don't understand why the cat doesn't just eat the fuckin' mouse, he said to Kris, sounding hollow inside the thermal test chamber.   
  
Language, Kris reminded him, too fondly for anyone's good, then added, He can't. The mouse always beats him.  
  
It's a  _mouse_ , CY1127 said, as if personally affronted.  
  
Doesn't matter if the cat's not a good enough predator, Kris said, and tapped on the glass wall separating them. Let's get started.  
  
Alright, alright, CY1127 said, and lit up.  
  
He tested incredibly well. So well that they were going to start preparing him for the field. Meanwhile Kris' talents were needed elsewhere. ZYX showed a lot of potential. He spent weekday nights with a six-pack of beer and a stack of project files. Then he inevitably passed out on top of an open folder of CY1127's vitals reports.   
  
CY1127 grew temperamental in the month before his transfer. He disobeyed the smallest commands and got into fistfights with his handlers, all of which he won. When they ran out of staff members for him to send to the hospital, they threw him into solitary instead. Kris visited. He looked through the door viewer at CY1127's hunched body, which was only a little taller than the first time they ever met, the first time CY1127 ever opened his eyes against a surgical light to find Kris' face above him, hovered like a planetary sun.  
  
How are you doing? Kris finally asked.  
  
Shivering inside the giant refrigerator, body temperature reading below twenty-five Celsius, CY1127 gritted out, Are you leaving me?  
  
This isn't about me, Kris said calmly.  
  
CY1127 snarled, black ash blowing out through his mouth, which meant, It's always been about you. Five days after that Kris woke up smelling smoke.  
  
In his official statement later, he stated that the subject burned himself alive with the other four researchers. In actuality there hadn't been enough evidence of a body. Summer in Macau shoots up to over a hundred degrees. Kris stands out on his hotel balcony in the afternoons, barefoot against the burning wax polish of the wood. He waits.  
  
  
  
_\- AU where chanyeol's the phoenix force vessel, cosmically destructive_  
  
Zitao returns to the hour before Chanyeol burns Seoul to the ground. He tracks him down to a park along the Han River, lying on his back across the uppermost bars of the jungle gym dome. Zitao climbs up next to him. Chanyeol peeks his eyes open. "Yo, Zitao," he says, but then laughs. "Wait, that's not it. Who're you?"  
  
"I'm Zitao," Zitao says.  
  
Chanyeol closes his eyes again. "Alright, whatever."  
  
"Whatever yourself," Zitao says. He leans over and pokes a dimple into Chanyeol's cheek.  
  
"Go away, Fake Zitao," Chanyeol says.  
  
"Stop saying that."  
  
He's never understood how Chanyeol is always the first one to tell. Sniffing out temporal displacement as if he even knows Zitao that well to begin with.   
  
Chanyeol shrugs. "If you're gonna stay, don't block my light."  
  
Of course Zitao stays. It's a beautiful day. He cranes his head back, squinting against the yellow sun and listening to the children run around below their feet.   
  
"What are you looking at?" Chanyeol asks after a while.  
  
"In an hour, something bad's going to happen," Zitao says, "and you're going to kill everyone."  
  
Chanyeol must feel it too, singing through his body. A nameless, formless, black hole energy eating him whole. It's going to burn Chanyeol out of himself until he's something brand new.  
  
"Are you here to kill me first?" he asks.  
  
Zitao dips his gaze from Chanyeol's face, to the jugular vein in his neck, to the vulnerable side of his chest, still deciding.  
  
  
  
_\- AU where chanyeol's happy just heating kyungsoo's stuff for him_  
  
The first date Chanyeol ever takes Kyungsoo on is ice-skating, where Chanyeol melts a hole through the middle of the rink. "I don't even know what to say to you," Kyungsoo says, after he's saved two kids from drowning and Minseok has come by to patch up the ice into a state better than its original.  
  
"Don't say anything," Chanyeol pleads. "Drink this hot chocolate I got for you."  
  
Kyungsoo grins into the paper cup and drinks. He hopes Chanyeol won't torture himself over it. Anyway, the kids had been little brats.   
  
It starts snowing on their fifteen minute walk of shame back from the rink. "Hey," he speaks up as they wait for the pedestrian light. "My hands are cold."  
  
Chanyeol leaps to action. He cups Kyungsoo's hands in his own and blows. Then he rubs them together, licking his dry lips as he concentrates. Snowflakes turn into tiny puffs of water vapor before ever hitting his beanie. A gentle warmth glows in the center of Kyungsoo's palms. In his chest, another one mirrors it.


	15. chansoo, post-jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> x-mas prompt: chansoo

 

 

Chanyeol isn't saying it's easier to live out in the wild than to be an idol, but kind of, yeah, he's saying that. A couple weeks without consistent dance practice and now his body's forgotten how to do it. "One cannot forget what one never knew," Baekhyun intones. Chanyeol's out of breath and sweating like a pig but that doesn't stop him from making stabby motions behind Baekhyun's back. Kyungsoo catches him in the act. His eyebrows go up. Then, in the best kind of misunderstanding, he slugs Baekhyun in the stomach on Chanyeol's behalf. Chanyeol can't believe how fucking romantic Kyungsoo is sometimes.

When they get home Kyungsoo pulls him aside and asks, "Are you tired? Do you still want to sleep over?"

"Hell yeah." Chanyeol yawns. "Never too tired for some olympic spooning."

Kyungsoo smiles back. "Okay."

Lu Han and Sehun clear out when they notice Chanyeol slipping into their room. Chanyeol doesn't waste his breath reassuring them that nothing's going to happen. He jumps into bed next to Kyungsoo, who's lying on his stomach and playing on his phone.

Chanyeol shimmies closer under the covers, then: "Hang on, are you wearing socks?"

"They're protective. Your feet are always freezing."

"Yeah, the whole idea is that you're supposed to warm me up."

"I can do that better if I'm wearing socks," Kyungsoo says pragmatically. He stuffs his phone under his pillow and rolls onto his side. "Turn around, I call big spoon."

Truthfully Chanyeol kind of likes being the little spoon anyway. He turns off the light, settling back into Kyungsoo's arms. Then he has a flicker of a thought that he can't help but want the answer to, and--yeah, that's Kyungsoo's dick at half-chub, pressed up against Chanyeol's ass. Chanyeol shifts back against Kyungsoo experimentally. It earns him a painful slap on the thigh.

"Ow, geez."

"Stop," Kyungsoo mutters.

"Sorry." He means it, too. Chanyeol wants to fool around, he wants to fool around like crazy, but there's no way his half-dead body is cooperating tonight. Still: "Want some help with that?"

"It's okay," Kyungsoo says. Chanyeol likes to think he's blushing a little. Sometimes it's hard to tell how much Kyungsoo really likes him. Getting actual evidence once in a while feels pretty awesome.

"You definitely missed me," he says, closing his eyes. "I'm gonna start going to the jungle all the time."

"Go to sleep shithead," Kyungsoo says, one of his socked feet stroking the back of Chanyeol's ankle.

 

 

 


End file.
